


Fire & Blood

by House_Blackfyre



Series: Blackfyre Short Stories [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Book Interpretations, Dark Daenerys Targaryen, Dark Jon Snow, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Politics, Pregnant Sex, Romance, Smut, War, titty sucking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 21:57:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18949441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/House_Blackfyre/pseuds/House_Blackfyre
Summary: “I warned each of you southerners that winter was coming. Yet only Queen Daenerys answered our call for aid. She is the queen who cared and my queen to my dying day. Peace will come when you are in the ground.”





	Fire & Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meisie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meisie/gifts), [LustOnMyFingers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LustOnMyFingers/gifts).



> I am going to give the show runners the benefit of the doubt that they had the very broad strokes of how the story might end. A scouring gone wrong, betrayal at the final hour, Daenerys' growing obsession with the Iron Throne and characters we previously looked at as heroes ending as very very grey individuals. This is my interpretation of how the books _might_ end in that context. Keyword might. 
> 
> Keep in mind this is unedited. Forgive the mistakes. I will correct them later. Just me venting.

**Daenerys Targaryen**

Even in the south the winds of winter were harsh enough to bite through her northern furs. The wind reminded her of the gusts that came off the wall; bone gales chilling that were accompanied with the promise of death. Daenerys shook the thoughts from her mind and focused on the road ahead. On her neck, her ruby choker was warm and throbbing with power.

Beneath her, her horse rode at a leisurely pace over the hard-packed snow plowed recently by the mammoth driven plows at the head of their column. Her mount was a northern breed, stouter than her silver with a great deal thicker coat. Brown as mud with legs thicker than both of her own, this horse was well suited for this cold war.

Daenerys face and head was protected from the wind by her hrakkar pelt which had long ago been a gift from her first husband. Her body was encased in fine Qohorik steel, black as pitch and adorned with rubies shaped into a three headed dragon snarling on her breast plate. The furs lining her armor and the cloak clasped to her shoulders were as white as freshly fallen snow, made from the pelt of a great snowbear and gifted to her by Jon.

 _Jon._ Her eyes slid over to her husband who rode beside her. Long haired and bearded, clad in steel and grey furs, Jon made for a grim and stern figure. His grey eyes flickered over to her and a smile etched on his lips.  “How are you feeling?” He guided his mount close enough so that their thighs brushed.

As if in response to his father’s voice, she felt a kick in her belly. “He hears you,” she told him.

The words made Jon’s smile grow even wider. His expression softened his scarred face revealing the handsome man beneath. Their long march from Winterfell did not afford them much opportunity for smiles and laughter. Even their private moments were filled with discussions concerning their impending war. “She,” Jon corrected.

Daenerys merely shook her head. “I carry a king inside of me. It is known.” She echoed the words of Irri and Jhiqui. Her Dothraki handmaidens were rarely in agreement. Whenever they were, Daenerys was usually inclined to believe them.

“The Freefolk think it will be a girl,” Jon countered.

“Val thinks it will be a girl.” Daenerys arched a brow at him. Jon nodded. Other than Daenerys and his sisters, Val was a woman Jon held in the highest regard. More princess than wildling, the woman had been instrumental in securing Jon’s place with his Freefolk. Perhaps it should have bothered her that Jon was so friendly with his former lover but then again Val had been the one to marry them under the heart tree.

“Val has her gifts,” Jon reasoned. Indeed, she did. The woman was a moonsinger or wood’s witch depending upon who you asked. They bore gifts given by the Old Gods. Cast bloodied stones at the base of a Weirwood tree and the Gods would grant one a sign of events yet to come. Or so Val claimed. The smile Jon bore when Val told them the sex of their child was worth enough. Daenerys knew her husband would be satisfied even if Val was proven wrong.

Yet Daenerys had her own gifts. The dreams that had come to her were as strong as the ones she had of Rhaego all those years ago. So vivid and intense they had terrified her. Only the continued reassurances of Archmaester Marwyn, her Red Priestesses and Jon himself convinced her that she was not losing another child. _Our promised Prince._ Daenerys rubbed her belly. The wool of her gloves and the steel of her breast plate prevented her from feeling her flesh but the gesture was a comfort all the same.

 _Is this how Rhaegar felt before the birth of his children?_ Her brother never had the privilege of carrying his heirs himself but she wondered if he had been afflicted with prophetic dreams the same as hers. _What did he see of Aegon? The red ruin on the walls of Elia’s bedchamber or was he fooled by the sight of the Mummer’s Dragon like all the rest of the realm?_ She looked at Jon who was now focused ahead. His direwolf loped beside him. The beast was as near as tall as the warhorses. Silent as the dead. Stealthy enough that the wolf could appear and disappear amongst the snow drifts seemingly at will.  _The King of Winter._ Jon’s people called him even though he had abdicated his crown and kingdom long ago in favor of her own claim.

 _Did Rhaegar see you before he met his end?_ Daenerys wondered. _Aemon Targaryen._ Lyanna had named him on her deathbed but that was months after Rhaegar’s death. Perhaps her brother had been expecting a girl. A Visenya to go along with his Rhaenys and Aegon. _The dragon must have three heads._ She remembered the silver-haired man in the House of the Undying. Would he be satisfied knowing his child of ice and fire lived? Where she and Jon and their unborn child the three heads of the dragon he had sacrificed his life and kingdom for?

Her belly twisted into knots. _Prophecy will bite your prick off every time._ Maester Marwyn’s crude words reminded her. If prophecies betrayed her brother what did it mean for her and Jon and their son? Daenerys had already tasted the bitter side of prophecy herself. The High Priest of the Lord of Light had named her their prophesized hero, Azor Ahai come again under the shadow of the Black Wall of Old Volantis. Yet such acclaim had only earned her scorn in Westeros. Scorn and hatred and fear. _Worse than Cersei. Worse than Maegor. The Mad King’s daughter._

Another kick rocked her belly and Daenerys had to stop lest she loosed her lunch in her saddle. Jon was at her side without a word spoken. She took his hand gratefully and climbed down from her horse. Unsullied snow at the base of a skinny bare tree accepted her partially digested meal. Jon held her dangling braid away from her face, careful not to displace the bells that jingled with every moment.

She accepted the skin of watered wine he passed to her as well as the herbs that alleviated the taste of her bile and cleaned her tea. Daenerys ignored the look of concern her husband sent her way. If Jon had his way she would be safely tucked away in Winterfell while he fought his war for her. The gesture was born out of sweetness and concern for her health as well as their child’s but Daenerys knew the moment she showed weakness it would breed doubt of her resolve in the minds of her enemies. She had so many now.  Besides, she had suffered Sansa’s false sweetness enough for a single lifetime. Winterfell would never be her home no matter how much she bled to protect it. Her good sister made that very clear.

Jon paused her before she could mount her horse again. The grip around her bicep was gentle but unyielding. His dark grey eyes scanned her face. Apparently unsatisfied his lips thinned. “You need to rest.”

Daenerys glowered at him. “There is still daylight left. I won’t waste time unnecessarily.”

“King’s Landing will still be standing on the morrow and the Blackfyre will still be biting his nails waiting for us to arrive. _I_ won’t risk your health unnecessarily.” Jon’s gaze did not falter even as her own turned molten. Briefly, Daenerys wondered if she gave her nephew too much power. Even before his parentage reveal Jon had always been strong willed and stubborn. _A bastard boy who has suddenly found himself the king of three kingdoms. He will come to reason soon enough._ Tyrion’s words had been the first of his many lies though in this case Daenerys believed her former Hand had merely underestimated Jon Snow. Now as her consort and a dragonrider himself, Jon had been emboldened even further. _Do I want to challenge him because I disagree with him or because I want to disagree with him?_

After a moment’s standoff, Daenerys relented. She passed word to Rhakaro, her bloodrider, and the Dothraki shouted out commands to her kos who filtered the order to the rest of the Khalasar. The remnants of her Unsullied were quick to halt their ordered march and began constructing camp with an unmatched efficiency. Jon’s Northmen, Vale Knights and freeriders, his Freefolk and Giants and their massive mammoths were the slowest to adhere to the order but soon enough they too came to a stop.

Her ire had not yet lessened even when their royal tent was constructed. Jon was quick to dismiss her handmaidens after they brought them their evening meal.

“I suppose you mean to remove my armor yourself?” Daenerys asked him.

Jon smiled a small smile and padded over to her wordlessly. He removed her vambraces, gauntlets and pauldrons with practiced ease. Placing each piece carefully on the armor stand. A hunger stirred in her belly when he dropped to his knees work at the ties of her grieves and thigh plates. Her boots soon followed. Jon lifted her heavy breastplate above her head, careful to not catch the edges on the bells woven into her braid. Her husband did not stop there. The complex braids she wore were carefully undone and each bell set on the table before them. There were more of the tiny bells than even Khal Drogo possessed. Each represented a victory won in her long march west through Essos. Yet she had refrained from adding to the count ever since landing on Dragonstone. For each victory she won in her homeland seemed a pyrrhic one.

“You are angry with me,” Jon breathed into her ear. Stripped of her armor and with her hair loose, Jon worked to remove her underclothes. Her tunic was parted from her shoulders first. Jon left a trail of kisses across the back of her neck and collar. Daenerys squirmed in response.

“You undermined me in front of our army.”

Jon snorted. “Undermined you? We had a minor disagreement. Nothing more. Do you think anyone will read more into a spat between lovers? Between husband and wife?” While he spoke, his hands found the clasp to release the binds to her breasts. A hiss of relief escaped her lips as her mounds were freed. They were sore and swollen with milk. Bigger than they had ever been before. She stepped away from him before he could find the laces to her breeches.

The heat from the wove stove that burned near the center of the tent warmed the air considerably, yet her nipples still stiffened in response to the slight chill. Her wool socks and the heavy pelts beneath her feet further insulated their chambers. While the heavy canvas of the tent bucked and swayed with the wind, the chaotic elements were held at bay.

“We are not a simple pair. I am your queen and yet when you make decisions and gestures that undermine my own then the men will begin to question where the true power lies. Do you not see that?”

This time it was Jon who glowered at her. Still clothed and armored, he made an intimidating figure. His dark eyes looked black in the dim light and his handsome face had a wolfish quality to it. For a moment Daenerys felt like prey. “You named me your prince-consort not your yes man. If you wanted one of those then perhaps you should have married Ser Jorah.”

She had a barbed response prepared but to her frustration, Jon turned from her and began removing his armor. “Did you speak to your precious Stannis like this?” She asked him after a time.

Shirtless Jon turned to her. An expression of disbelief was on his face. “I wasn’t married to Stannis.” He shook his head. “I have more respect for you than I ever did for Stannis and I do not say that lightly. Yet you are more than my queen. You are my wife and soon to be mother of my child.” His voice softened and he cupped her face. “You should know by now that your safety means more to me than anything else in this world.”

It was difficult for her to stay angry at him when he looked at her that way. Jon’s face was normally the stern mask he developed in his time as Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch but with her his face displayed a wealth of emotion that few were privy too. She tilted her head to kiss the scarred fingers of his right hand. “Next time you can ask me rather than make a demand.”

Jon nodded but Daenerys had to wonder if his agreement was genuine. His thumb brushed her lips. “You can always refuse. What man can truly tell the Mother of Dragons what to do?”

 _You._ Daenerys thought but did not voice her answer. Viserys had thought that the people of Westeros would enthusiastically support their return to Westeros and the Iron Throne as its rightful rulers. Ser Jorah had named her brother naïve and foolish for believing such a notion. In the end both men were wrong. The smallfolk of Westeros and many of their lords had indeed supported a Targaryen restoration but one with the pretender, Aegon VI Targaryen, as its face rather than the rightful claimant. It had no mattered that Daenerys had dragons and an unquestionable lineage. Aegon had the sword Blackfyre, a beautiful bride in Arianne Martell complete with Dorne and its armies and the loyalty of the Stormlands’ new lord Edric Baratheon along with half of the Reach led by Randall Tarly. Westeros had already suffered one mad queen and Aegon’s advisors were quick to compose a cacophony that labeled Daenerys of the same ilk as Cersei Lannister. The North and its war against the Others had been a path of redemption. One meant to show the people of Westeros that she truly cared for their wellbeing.

 _Let them weaken and starve so they have to beg for your help._ Tyrion had whispered. Her Hand was the cleverest man she had ever met but he also danced too close to the edge of malevolence. Tyrion had wished to see fire and destruction rained upon his enemies, even at the expense of the fortune of former friends. Still, it had been sound advice. Through his own skill and that of his sisters, Jon had come to her a king of three kingdoms. The North, the Vale and the Riverlands. A king unwilling to bend the knee even as he all but demanded her aid. Daenerys had not listened to her Hand’s advice, much to his chagrin and agreed to join her strength with Jon’s.

“Where did your mind go?” Jon asked her. Belatedly she realized that her husband had stripped her of her breeches and small clothes and wrapped her in furs. Squires filtered into their tent to collect their armor for cleaning. Jhiqui entered with two steaming buckets of water she set at the corner of the tent.

Daenerys thanked her handmaiden in Dothraki and waited till she and Jon were alone again before replying. “I was just thinking if you weren’t so pretty the world would be facing an apocalypse right about now.”

Laughter rang in their tent. “Oh, is that the entire reason you agreed to help?” Jon grinned at her.

Daenerys smiled widely. “Can you blame me?” When she reached up to pull the tie that held Jon’s hair back the furs fell away from her shoulders leaving her bare once again.

Desire and discord raced through her veins as she helped Jon strip. The War for the Dawn as it had been taken to be called had been meant to be her redemption and while the men who had once feared and despised her had warmed to her cause they still did not love her. No, they loved her husband. A bastard they had raised to be king. A dragonrider and now a Targaryen. There was no one else better poised to betray her and take all that she held dear. Jon could plunge a knife into her heart and half the realm would rejoice; the other half was bound to him by blood.

She felt guilty for doubting Jon and wondered if her rising paranoia was the result of her father’s madness finally rearing its head in her person. Yet, every man she had ever loved or who had claimed to have loved her had either betrayed her or died before they had the opportunity. Khal Drogo, Daario Naaharis, Ser Jorah, Ser Barristan, Tyrion Lannister... Only her Dothraki remained unflinchingly loyal and that was much as out of fear as it was out love.  This Jon Snow... Aemon Targaryen, was a different sort of man than any she had met before. As fine a killer as Daario but also an honest man at his core. He saw the good in her but did not turn his head from the butcher. From the dragon.

Her fingers traced the muscled lines of his abdomen. They found the jagged edges of his scars. She had walked into a fire and had birthed three dragons; he had been resurrected after being stabbed seven times, once in the heart. _Which is more impressive?_ She wondered. Her thumb brushed the scar that lay on his throat. Jon caught her wrist and tugged her into him. His turgid length pressed insistently against her swollen belly. When he captured her lips with his own, she yielded immediately for his tongue.

His rough hands cupped her bottom. He kneaded the soft flesh which had only grown thicker and rounder as the months of her pregnancy dragged on. Much to his delight. “My queen,” Jon whispered in reverence when they broke apart. Daenerys tilted her chin upward as he kissed down her neck to her collar. Her nails bit into the back of his scalp when he captured her nipple between his lips.

He kneaded her breasts as he suckled from her nipples. Daenerys sighed in delight when his tongue flicked against the erected buds. He groaned as the warm milk leaked onto his tongue. She let him drink from her breasts for a time before stepping away. A light shove separated them. Irritation brewed in Jon’s eyes for a moment but her seductive smile was enough to quell his discontent.

Daenerys backed away from him to the edge of their bed. Then she sunk to her knees. The snow bear pelt was a welcomed softness beneath her. Palming her heavy breasts while her other hand slipped between her thighs to tease her nub, Daenerys beckoned her husband forward. “Come here nephew.”

Jon’s face twitched at the mention of their relation. Sometimes Daenerys liked to remind him of their shared relation. Ned Stark may have raised him, but Jon had the blood of Rhaegar Targaryen running through his veins. Blood that connected him to her. She would damn herself before she let him forget.

Utterly enticed by her wanton nature, Jon stepped forward. His turgid cock led the way. Lengthy and thick, Daenerys’ mouth watered as it drew closer. She kissed the wide head, her tongue swiped across the slit drawing a groan from Jon. She peered up at him as her lips slipped down his length.

“Dany,” Jon whispered, his voice full of reverence. He ran a hand through her long silver-blonde locks. Filled with affection he stroked her cheeks while she sucked him.

Daenerys slobbered on his cock. Her dainty fingers played with his sack. The sounds he made were music to her ears. His groans and sighs, the way he said her name and the careful buck of his hips. She sucked him deeper taking his length in her throat. Her nose nuzzled the brown curls at his base.

Jon had two lovers before her. Wildling women. Wild was in their name yet neither had serviced him like she did. Daenerys felt a certain sense of satisfaction at that thought. She would be the last woman he ever bedded and certainly his best.

Daenerys’ nostrils flared as she inhaled his length. Up and down she bobbed on his cock. Her hand fitted around his base, slick with her saliva she stroked in tune with her mouth. On her knees before her husband Daenerys wondered if Jon ever did decide to betray her for his own claim to the throne would he intend to keep her as his consort. She sank a finger into her cunt. The thought of Jon wresting power from her was as enticing as it was terrifying.

The longer he was by her side the more his influence grew. And the more his influence grew, the more lords would seek to see him on the throne rather than her. _You sowed the seeds of your own undoing._ An insidious thought she decided. Jaehaerys had never worried that Alysanne would betray him, had he? Did Rhaenyra love and curse Daemon in the same breath?

The way Jon sucked in air between clenched teeth and how his fingers tightened in her hair was all the warning she needed. Her lips pulled back to the crest of his crown while her hand stroked his shaft to coax out his spend. Daenerys swallowed all he gave her. And when his eyes found hers again, she was sure to lick her lips clean of any traces of his seed.

Jon lifted her to her feet. He kissed her brow, her cheeks, her nose and then placed a chaste kiss on her lips. Unsatisfied, Daenerys grabbed his face to deepen their kiss. She slipped her tongue past his lips so he could taste the traces of his climax. They nearly fell to the bed before Daenerys pushed him away once again.

She sauntered over to the buckets of warm water Jhiqui had left for them. Jon caught on and ran the soft soapy cloth down her body. Daenerys sighed and lazed against his strength as he cleaned away the sweat that collected on her body from their long day of riding. A man this attentive to her needs would never betray her. He could be stern and unyielding in his principles, sometimes even to her frustration but he was duty bound above all else and he had sworn himself to her. Jon Snow was a man of his word.

Both cleaned and dried with his arousal in resurgence, Jon led her to their bed. He pushed her to her back and then pulled her legs so that her bottom was at the edge of the bed. Then he sank to his knees. Daenerys squirmed as his rough hands spread her thighs. Jon kissed down the length of them. His nose nuzzled in the downy silver-gold curls above her core. He took a deep breath full of her heady scent.

“Mine,” He growled, almost wolf like. Tongue splitting her nether lips, he drank from her. Daenerys sighed and palmed her breasts as he feasted. She relaxed on the bed, unable to see above the crest of her pregnant belly. Her eyes closed. Jon’s tongue swirled around her nub drawing a cry from her. Her toes pointed. His hands caressed the back of her thighs and her bottom. A finger slid into her. Pumping the digit into her cunt in time with the flick of his tongue against her nub, Jon drove her to climax.

Jon rose from his knees, face slick with her juices. Daenerys hooked a leg around his waist and pulled him to her. She cleaned his face with her tongue before kissing him deeply. Her hand encircled his shaft and guided him into her. Fluttering around his cock, Daenerys clenched her muscles as he sank deeper into her.

Needy and desperate, Daenerys arched her back as well as she could and submitted to her husband’s strokes. Before she grew heavy with his seed, Daenerys would often ride him until he begged to spill his seed inside of her. Now she wondered if it was motherhood or her overflowing love for Jon that made her crave his control over her. It was a fascinating juxtaposition. She feared his growing political power but craved his dominance in the bedroom.

Dominate her he did. He tested her flexibility by holding one leg wide while her other foot rested on his shoulder. Her head braced by a nest of pillows; Daenerys had a view to appreciate his lean muscularity. Each stroke into her was accompanied by a delicious tightening of his abdomen. His dark eyes were filled with lust and love. She cradled his face in her hands and bit his bottom lip. 

Jon’s thumb found her nub, rubbing it with just the right amount of pressure to drive her to insanity. Toe-curling pleasure raced through her body and Daenerys cried out without regard for their camp that could surely hear her. Distantly she heard Drogon’s accompanying roar.

Her husband was ravenous tonight. He gave her a moment to recover before coaxing her to her hands and knees. Daenerys spread her thighs wider at his prompting, her belly threatened to brush the bed. To her delight, Jon kissed between her cheeks. His hands spread her arse cheeks wide while his tongue ensured she was sopping wet.

Satisfied with his efforts, Jon gripped her hip and lifted her bottom so his cock was perfectly angled. He teased her lips with his head.

“Please,” Daenerys begged him. She looked over her shoulder, giving him a wounded look when he denied her once again.

Her hips pressed backwards on their own accord and she cried out as he sank into her. His sack slapped repeatedly against her clit as he fucked into her. In an out. A squelch of juices and a rising pleasure. Jon’s grip was firm on her hips. Her back arched, offering him as much of her as he wanted. He gripped her silver-gold tresses in one fist and gave a tug.

She was sure their whole army could hear her cries. Her Dothraki would remain unphased. Jon’s wildlings would only respect their king further but the Westerosi she sought to win and rule... would they think her a harlot for how she enjoyed her husband? _A dragon does not concern herself with the opinion of sheep._ Jon’s hot seed flooded into her, painting her insides white. She was only mildly disappointed that her womb was already full. Already she wanted another child. Rhaegal and Drogon were roaring now as she followed him into bliss. Daenerys thought she heard Ghost’s howl as well.

 _Who could love a dragon?_ She had thought long ago atop her pyramid in Meeren. Daenerys had thought she loved Daario but even after sharing a night of passion with her sellsword a crippling loneliness often gripped her heart. That feeling was absent now. Jon spooned against her back, his warmth and the strength of his arms around her granted her a feeling of belonging that not even Khal Drogo had given her. _Another dragon, w_ as her answer.

Jon helped her to the chamber pot so she could relieve her bladder. Then he cleaned the mess he made between her legs with gentle strokes of the soapy cloth before guiding her back to bed. Exhausted, Daenerys let him guide her body into his embrace. His arms were around her once again, one hand lightly gripping her breast while the other cradled her belly.

“I love you,” he whispered. Daenerys mumbled a reply and allowed the comfort of their bed and furs and her husband’s embrace to lull her into sleep.

She dreamed of their son again that night. _How many times did I see Rhaego before he dried up in my womb?_ To her dismay she was not sure of the answer. Once? Twice? Rhaego would have been a warrior, of that Daenerys was sure. She remembered the burning cities behind him. The dragon banner flapping in the wind and his tall figure and almond shaped eyes with her flowing silver-gold hair. _The stallion that mounts the world. Turned to ash._ This son was of a different sort. He had his father’s dark brooding eyes but a smile that seemed to come to him easier than his sire’s. Blonde hair streaked with silver reached his neck in loose curls. Instead of a sword in hand he held a lute. The sight brought happy tears to her eyes.

Daenerys waited for him to turn to ash as Rhaego had done all those years ago. He did not. Instead a burned hand clasped his right shoulder. The scent of spring filled her nose and her vision faded as the world beyond her eyelids brightened.

She had a name.

Jon was already dressed and armored when she woke. He broke his fast with her. She still nude with furs wrapped around to avoid the chill sat with him at their small round table. Their meal was hardly extravagant, dried fruits and crisp salted fish. Perhaps it was due to Drogon or his brother but Daenerys craved bloodier meat. She would even settle for horse flesh.

“When we take King’s Landing, I want a feast to celebrate.”

Jon’s face was a bit too grim for her liking. “Winter is already here and food is already scarce. A feast is an unnecessary extravagance.”

Daenerys frowned at him. “I don’t mean an elaborate one. Something modest. It is important that the men have time to celebrate. A lift of their spirits after these long years of fighting will help them look forward to the peace we will bring.” She squeezed his hand and knew by his nod that she had convinced him.

Snowfall delayed their march by another two days. The layer of white beneath the neck was not as thick as those north of it but it still made for a grueling march. _One more battle and then it is all over._ Daenerys told herself. The benefit of this miserable weather was that Aegon could no longer disperse his forces to further oppose her. Her army may have been weakened considerably but Aegon’s forces were reliant on the strength of the walls of King’s Landing. Daenerys knew how well wood and stone faired against her dragons. With Jon’s giants serving as living siege weapons, King’s Landing would fall in a day or even less.

Castle Stokeworth appeared in the distance. Two years ago, the new Lord of Stokeworth, Tyrion’s former hired guard had been one of the first lords to bend the knee to her after her landing at Dragonstone. Ser Bronn of the Blackwater was a fickle lord it seemed for instead of her three-headed dragon banner, Aegon’s golden dragon on a field of black flew above the castle walls. They halted and Jon moved to prepare their escort while Daenerys retired to the command tent to ready herself.

Irri and Jhiqui were helping her into her armor while Missandei was braiding her hair and lacing her bells into the strands when a white shadow slipped into the tent. Ghost stirred by her side and lifted his head. The massive direwolf stood to greet the newcomer.

Lean and growing tall, Arya Stark was clad entirely in white furs. Her long brown hair was tied in twin braids curled into loops while strands of her brown locks kissed her flushed cheeks. A sword belt was tied around her waist, the dagger and longsword still present represented the trust Daenerys and her guards had for the young woman. She scratched Ghost behind the ears and stepped deeper into the tent. “Where’s Jon?”

Daenerys smiled. “Gathering our escort. No hello for me?” She pouted.

Arya smiled sheepishly and moved to embrace Daenerys. The young woman pulled back to stare at Daenerys’ belly. “You look ready to pop.”

Daenerys giggled at her good-sister's crudeness. Jon could be overly formal and cold; Sansa possessed a disarming charm that hid the vulture beneath but Arya was blunt and honest. “He still has some time before he’s ready.”

Arya lifted a brow. “Doesn’t Jon think it will be a girl?”

She shrugged. “Keyword, _thinks._ " She smirked at Arya. “When have men ever known anything?”

Arya watched as Daenerys’ breastplate was slid into place. “If you mean to hide your condition it makes no matter. The Spider has already made Aegon aware.”

“For how long?” Daenerys questioned. It was a long march south from Winterfell and few ravens flew between they and King’s Landing. While Daenerys’ pregnancy was not exactly a secret, thick furs and armor gave her a degree of plausible deniability. For Lord Varys to be made aware of her condition it meant he had a spy in her camp.

“Long enough,” Arya replied. She sat across from Daenerys. “They think it will make you amiable for a long-term ceasefire.” 

“They think me weak because I carry life inside of me.” Daenerys eyes narrowed. A year ago, she might have considered peace. The blood she and Aegon spilled was enough to paint the hills of Westeros red but peace gave Varys time to plan and connive. Peace would give them time to gather gold and hire hidden knives. Arya had rooted out the last of the assassins sent after her but she wondered if her good-sister would be a match for a fully trained Faceless Man. She wrapped her arms around her belly. _No, for my family’s safety I need to rip Aegon and his sycophants out root and stem._ A Blackfyre and his nest could not be trusted.

“Prove them wrong then.” Arya’s grin was dark. If there was any woman Daenerys feared then it would be Arya. Trained in assassination and espionage, Arya was the perfect spy. A spy that could see and hear with the eyes of alleycats. Fortunately, she made for the perfect Master of Whisperers. She unbuckled her belt and slid the ruby hilted sword over to Daenerys. “You should wear this to the meeting.”

Daenerys stared at her ancestral blade. There were few swords that could match the reputation of Dark Sister and it deserved a skilled wielder. “You’re a better swordsman than I’ll ever be. Keep it for now.”

Arya shook her head. “I don’t need it now. Take it to the parlay and let them see it on your hip. He has Blackfyre and you have Dark Sister.” She squeezed Daenerys’ hand. “It’s yours anyway. I’m just borrowing it.”

Daenerys accepted the gift. Wrapped the sword belt around her waist. When she strode from the tent Ghost was at her side as protective and alert as any Kingsguard. Jon was waiting for her at the center of their honor guard. She grinned at the sight of him.

He had traded his grey cloak for a black one with the blazing three-headed dragon of House Targaryen in red. On his gorget the Stark direwolf roared alongside Targaryen dragons. His long beard had been trimmed and now the curve of his jawline was apparent. Her savage husband was replaced by a man worthy of being a consort to a queen. The bronze and iron crown that had been Robb Stark’s was on his brow. Daenerys was glad she let him keep it.

For her part she wore her furs and black armor but the wind had died enough for her to don her own crown. A gift from the Tourmaline Brotherhood of Qarth, long ago when her dragons had been no bigger than cats. When she had been no wiser than a scared girl playing as queen and conqueror. The crown was wrought in the shape of a three-headed dragon. The coils yellow gold, the wings silver, the heads carved from jade, ivory, and onyx.

Their honor guard numbered a hundred. Two giants, Wun Wun and his mate, their massive mammoths, Ghost and Nymeria with their wolves nearby but unseen, Dothraki and Northmen, Vale knights and Riverlanders from House Blackwood and House Mallister. Her unsullied formed the bulk of their guard.

They met Aegon in a field of white hundreds of yards away from the walls of Castle Stokeworth. He was surrounded by a host of similar size. Lord Edric Baratheon of Storm’s End, formally Edric Storm, Robert Baratheon’s bastard son by Dalena Florent stood to his right. Arianne Martell, Queen Arianne Martell as she was fond of calling herself was on his left. The beautiful woman looked half frozen even in her thick coat. A fist of Dornish spears formed a protective ring around Aegon, his queen and their lords.

The tension was apparent to all who were present. Hands remained near the hilts of blades and Aegon’s spears remained tilted towards them. Seven figures clad in white stood behind the pretender and his queen. Daenerys stared at them, failing to recognize their sigils. She had burned at least three of his knights in their clashes and now wondered who he had replaced them with.

Aegon stared at her briefly but his eyes never seemed to leave Jon as her husband helped her down from her saddle. Jon had never set foot south of the Neck save for when he sailed to her on Dragonstone. Yet his legend only grew as more and more spoke of him. The Black Bastard on the Wall, the King of the North, the King of the Vale and the Rivers, and finally Prince Rhaegar’s son. Even if Daenerys had not fallen in love with him, she still may have married Jon. He was a hero king while she would always be the Mad King’s daughter.

“It seems your short an ugly dwarf,” Bronn of the Blackwater, Lord of Stokeworth, called from well behind Aegon’s forward host. There were hints of the sellsword he once was beneath all the finery that he wore. He sat astride a tall black destrier. A familiar shirt of black ringmail was beneath his fine surcoat. The man was dark haired and black bearded, tall and lean and dangerous. And loyal to only his self.

“Treason is punishable by death,” Daenerys answered. To her surprise that drew a grimace from the sellsword. Tyrion’s execution brought her no joy, only sadness but it had been necessary.

“A shame, I rather liked him. How did he go? Did you do it with your dragon?” The other lords shifted uncomfortably.

“I killed him,” Jon answered. It had been quick, done the Northern way. Jon had passed the sentence and swung the sword. For the safety of her and their child.

Aegon cleared his throat, drawing their attention back to him. If nothing else he looked like a king. Tall and handsome and silver-haired with the Conqueror’s iron and ruby crown resting on his brow. His armor was finely crafted, ebon black and trimmed with gold. Blackfyre was at his hip while a crimson cloak was clasped to his shoulders by snarling dragons casted in iron. The cloth snapped and danced in the gentle breeze.  “Auntie, your army is much smaller than it was when you first sailed North. How many men do you have left? Varys tells me you’d be lucky to have five thousand. Only five thousand men between three kingdoms, how does that work?”

Daenerys smiled sweetly at the imposter. “I am only a young girl ignorant in the ways of war but I seem to remember that I have two dragons and you have none.”

Aegon’s eyes narrowed. They were a blue so deep they could _almost_ be mistaken for purple. “Yes. One less dragon than you started with it. Young ones as well. Unlike the conqueror’s they are not invulnerable and can be killed. I suppose we have Euron Greyjoy to thank for reminding us.”

She did not rise to his barbs. Her brow arched. “Did you leave the safety of the walls of King’s Landing to merely trade insults? If so, you should have saved yourself the effort. We will be flying over your skies soon enough.”

“You’re bringing an army of dragons and monsters to besiege King’s Landing and you think the people will love you for it? They are terrified.” Arianne Martell spoke. She stared pointedly at the giants. Her dark eyes then fell on Jon. “Did your wife tell you what she did to my brother Quentyn? Rather than simply refusing his offer of marriage and an alliance she burned him alive.”  

Daenerys flinched. She could barely recall Quentyn’s face. From what she remembered, he had not been as handsome as his sister, soft spoken and timid to the point of meekness in their first meeting. Dorne’s loyalty had been far more tempting than the man himself but at the time she was committed to achieving peace in Meeren. _How could I have known he would try to claim a dragon himself?_ Worse yet the boy attempted to tame Viserion and Rhaegal in the basement of the Great Pyramid. Entering her dragons’ dens was not something even she would do without ensuring they were well fed first. _I told him to return home not to go out and die._

Jon’s face remained impassive. He stared at Arianne with cold eyes. “I’ve heard differently. Your brother wanted a dragon for himself and paid the price for it. The fault is not on my wife.”

Aegon stepped forward, lessening the yards of space between them. His Kingsguard tensed while her Unsullied honor guard lowered their spears in a guard positon. Aegon waved his knights away. After a time, Daenerys did the same. The pretender scanned Jon’s face. “I fear we look nothing alike. Daenerys has named you my half-brother, Rhaegar’s son but if true our father left little of himself in you.”

“He left enough,” Daenerys replied. She remembered enough of the man in the House of the Undying to see the resemblance in Jon. Much of it was hidden by Jon’s coloring and Stark imagery but Rhaegar’s nose was there and his lips. In another life, Jon’s long fingers would make him an excellent harpist as well.

Aegon looked as if there was a barb waiting for her on his tongue but then he thought better of it. He looked to Jon once again. “I wish Griff were here to see two of Rhaegar’s sons alive. Your adoptive father raised you as a bastard to keep you safe from his best friend’s anger. My adoptive father raised me in exile for the same reason. Our stories are paralleled. Do you not see?  I am sure our aunt has told you much about me. Little of it positive I am sure. But if we are both Rhaegar’s sons then why should we make war? The dragons have clashed once again and thousands died. Let there be an end to the bloodshed.”

“Would that it be you had offered this to us a year ago. Would that it be you had headed my warning of the Others and their coming invasion. Would that it be you had gazed upon the wights my emissaries brought before you and thought them more than Northern sorcery.” Each word that came from Jon’s lips was harsher than the last. “I warned each of you southerners that winter was coming. Yet only Queen Daenerys answered our call for aid. She is the queen who cared and my queen to my dying day. Peace will come when you are in the ground.”

Aegon stepped back as if Jon struck him. His face turned imperious. “You would condemn thousands to death for the claim of a mad queen? She has turned cities to dust, burned as many if not more castles than Aemond the Kinslayer, her Dothraki savages slaughtered thousands of good men and that does not include the thousands more of innocents that died on the roads escaping from her fiery crusades!”

Jon’s lips thinned. “War is terrible yes. Were it not for Daenerys and her armies then you would be overrun by a far more terrible foe than us. One you would have no chance of defeating. No negotiations would be had. Only death. You should be thanking her on your knees right now.”

“Lord Varys told us the tales of Ned Stark,” Arianne began.

“Do not bring my father into this,” Jon growled.

She continued unperturbed. “Ned Stark gave his life because he could not stand to see the death of Cersei’s children. And the Lannisters repaid him for his kindness by taking his head. Aegon answered that injustice with justice. The Lannisters who conspired to kill your brother at the Red Wedding, who turned the Boltons loose on the North now lay in the ground because of Aegon Targaryen. Does my husband not deserve his own thanks?”

“Aye, I wanted to see the destruction of House Lannister and this Aegon stole my vengeance.” Jon arched a brow. “Did you think I would thank you for killing a little girl and boy? Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen may have been Lannisters by blood but they had never done any harm to my family.”

The two were driven speechless.

“Bend the knee _nephew._ " She spat. “I am no butcher queen. I will allow you take the black and Princess Arianne can return to Dorne. Your young daughter will be treated fairly and will not lack for comfort at court.” It was as fair an offer she could make. The Wall still stood though with a gaping wound and they could not be sure that the Others were entirely defeated or merely licking their wounds.

Aegon glared. “I will not. Come to King’s Landing and set your dragons loose. Let the people decide who they would rather see sit the throne. The butcher or the king who seeks to protect them.”

“The king who hides behind them?” Jon questioned sharply. He flexed his sword hand. “If you truly care for the well-being of your people then prove it. Defend your claim with your sword.”

Aegon scoffed. “Will your little fight me? A king against a queen hardly seems fair.”

“I will be her champion.” Jon answered without a shred of humor. “You wear the sword of kings at your waist but do you know how to wield it? Or have your knights done all your killing for you?”

Fear gripped Daenerys’ heart. She did not doubt Jon’s skill but he was too precious for her to risk. _Why do you act without consulting me?_

Aegon hesitated and for once there was a flash of doubt on his face before he mastered his expression. “I-”

“I will fight him for you, Your Grace.” A White Cloak stepped forward. He was tall and his face plate was up revealing sky blue eyes and sandy brown hair. _Ser Daemon Sand._ Daenerys recognized him from her and Aegon’s first parlay.

“It must be Aegon; no one else will suffice,” Daenerys said quickly. She would not undermine Jon by retracting the offer but she would not risk him unnecessarily.

Edric Baratheon allowed Aegon to save face. “It is not a sound decision. Her armies are depleted and the walls of King’s Landing have never been stronger. Let her dragons come so we can watch how they fall from the sky.”

Aegon nodded. “War it is then.”

Daenerys looked to Arianne one last time. Women could be just as arrogant as men but they were often more reluctant to spill blood. “Speak some sense into him and convince him that your war is over. Bend the knee and live.”

Arianne lifted her chin. “You know my house words: Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken.”

She nodded sadly. _Fire and blood, it is then._ "Let your people know that your king refused to defend them. They should know who to blame when the sky falls down upon them.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> There will be a second part to this. 
> 
> Your thoughts are appreciated. And yes I will start working on TLE, just let me vent.


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